Silent Lucidity

by Tiffany Roberts

  Tenthil could only hope he and Abella would have some time to breathe here.

  He turned and slid the heavy-duty deadbolts into place—one slid into the top of the doorframe, the other into the floor—tossed his backpack and cloak on the floor, and walked to Abella. Taking hold of her shoulders, he spun her to face him. For a few moments, she stared up at him, her glistening eyes, red from her tears, wary. Tenthil wasn’t sure of everything he felt in that moment—too many feelings, perhaps, to ever sort out—but a sense of relief was foremost.

  He took her in his arms and drew her against his chest, lowering his cheek to her hair. He smoothed one hand up and down her back, willing away the tension threatening to curl his fingers and extend his claws.

  Her shoulders shook as she cried against his chest, her sobs no longer repressed but full and raw. It was as though she’d held on to these tears for years, as though she’d been unwilling to release her pain and loss. Her fingers clutched as his waist, pressing into the flesh above his hip bones.

  “Why didn’t you just take me to the humans?” she asked between cries.

  The pain and despair in her voice sank into Tenthil’s gut like the twisting blade of a knife.

  “They cannot protect you from the Order,” he said. “Only I can.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair, inhaling her scent, which had changed subtly since they’d come together in the bathroom earlier. He swore he picked up a hint of himself in her smell; he shrugged it off as a matter of him holding her while they traveled over the last several hours.

  Gently, he ran his claws through her hair. “You are mine, Abella.”

  She shook her head and pulled back, lifting her face to look up at him. “No, I’m not. The choice is mine, Tenthil. Mine. You can’t just…own me.”

  “Neither of us has a choice in this.”

  “What do you mean? We always have a choice.”

  “I don’t. Not when it comes to you.”

  Her brows lowered. “I don’t understand.”

  He looked down, searching out the right words. He’d spent most of his life listening to and prying secrets from others, yet still found it difficult to reveal his own, even to her.

  “Something in me recognizes you.” He met her gaze again. “Something in me knows that you are mine. That I am yours. I cannot ignore it, cannot deny it. It is the deepest, most primal part of me.”

  “Are you…are you talking about soul mates?”

  Soul mates. He’d never heard the term before, but it sounded right.

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes searched his. “You think I’m your soul mate?”

  “I know.”

  Abella looked away, giving him a fleeting glimpse of the flush that had risen on her cheeks. “That kind of thing isn’t real. People want to believe in it, want to believe there’s a true love out there for them, but…it’s just not real. You don’t know me, Tenthil. What you feel is lust.”

  “You think lust alone could have driven me to do what I have done?” Every word was like a hot coal rising from his throat, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t bear more silence. He caught her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him. “I have made war on everything I knew to have you. I have risked everything to have you and will continue to do so until the Void swallows me for eternity.”

  Fresh tears gathered in her eyes, shimmering as they caught the overhead light, and spilled down her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on his waist until, finally, she slid her arms around him and rested her head upon his chest.

  Something warmed inside Tenthil. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, once more settling his cheek atop her hair to draw in her scent.

  “I had a life before this,” she said softly. “A family, friends, a home.”

  “So did I.”

  “You did? Before you were…”

  “Changed.” He clenched and relaxed his jaw. For most of his life, he’d carefully guarded his memories of his home world, knowing the Master would take them if Tenthil allowed them to rise too close to the surface. They’d faded significantly over time, so much so that he knew many of them were lost to him forever, and it pained him that he could not remember more of what he was, of the place from which he’d come.

  “I lived with my people when I was young,” he said. “Was six or seven years old when slavers came, packed my tribe into ships, and brought me here. I had a mother. A father. Brothers and a sister. I had a tribe.”

  “Oh, my God. And you never saw them again? None of them?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Some of them were on the ship, but…I cannot remember clearly, anymore. We were all sold to different owners. The Master bought me…to make me into what I am.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his chest before resting her forehead against it. She laughed humorlessly. “All this time I was crying about going home, not realizing everything you’ve suffered and endured… My experiences seem mild in comparison.”

  Tenthil slid a hand up her back to her neck, gently brushing the pads of his fingers across the spot he’d bandaged after removing the tracker. She shivered and held him a little tighter.

  “My pain does not invalidate yours,” he said softly. “You were taken, too. Our experiences are the same.”

  Abella tilted her head back to look up at him. Lifting her hands, she lightly traced the scars on his cheeks with her fingertips. “Will you tell me how you got these?”

  He covered her hands with his own, meaning to guide them away, but stopped himself. The scars were part of him, and he was Abella’s. “The Vow of Silence. It is a ritual the Master performs so acolytes may prove their devotion to the Order and its secrets. It involves the removal of organs necessary for speech, so it varies between species. All are required to take it save the Master and his favored second. I refused.”

  “And these were your punishment?”

  Tenthil shook his head. “No. These are the result of one of their failed attempts to force my vow.”

  “One of their failed attempts?”

  “The first time, they poured a concoction down my throat meant to destroy my vocal cords.” The reminder made the discomfort caused by his speaking just a little more pronounced. “I sent two of the acolytes involved to the infirmary. The next night, they tried again. I was ready that time. The second group of acolytes were in recovery for more than a week. The final time, the Master sent a group of five acolytes into my room while I slept to cut out my tongue.”

  Abella expelled a soft breath. She stared up at him with eyes wide, brow creased, and lips parted.

  He moved her hands down so only the tips of her forefingers touched his scars and guided them both outward from his mouth. “This is as far as they got. I killed two of them with the knife they brought in. After that, the Master decided it best to allow me what remained of my voice, and I vowed he would never hear it again.”

  Her fingers curled around his. “Talking hurts as much as it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

  Tenthil nodded. “Worth it with you.”

  Abella’s already flushed cheeks reddened further, and she pulled her hands free. She lowered them to his sides; Tenthil stiffened when her nails brushed over his energy blade wound and sent a jolt of fresh, electric pain across his chest.

  She drew back. “You are hurt!”

  He leaned to the side and shifted his arm backward to look down at the damage. The scorched gash on his ribs was clearly visible through his torn shirt. Reaching down, he pressed his fingers on the flesh above the wound and pulled it tight. He hissed through his teeth at the fresh agony.

  “Low priority,” he said.

  “It’s not low priority now.” She took his hand and led into the bathroom. “Take off your shirt.”

  He offered her no resistance; with many of his earlier distractions gone, Tenthil’s awareness of the injury—and the pain it caused him—had only inc
reased. He took a step back from her and unfastened his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Even the small amount of twisting he had to do to divest himself of the garment produced another flare of pain.

  Abella watched silently, her gaze trailing over his torso, and hunger kindled in her eyes before they settled on his wound. Just seeing the heat in her gaze was almost enough to make him forget his pain. He’d not nearly had enough of her yet.

  Tenthil forced himself to dip a hand into his main pouch and took out the medtool from within. It was cylindrical, with a forty-five-degree curve on one side that ended with a metallic disc. The disc had a central circle with eight blue lines radiating from its center. There was a simple switch near the opposite end of the handle, just in front of a tiny projector port. The whole thing was perhaps ten centimeters from one end to the other.

  Abella covered the device with her hand. “Let me clean your wound first.”

  “Might as well shower,” he said, unable to pry his gaze from their touching hands. Her skin was so soft, so warm, so enticing. Even wounded, he didn’t think he could control himself if she touched him again. His blood was still too hot, his emotions too raw. “You should get some rest.”

  “Oh.” She withdrew her hand.

  The disappointment he saw in her expression before she turned her face away struck him like a blow, but no matter how much he wanted her, she wasn’t ready for him yet. She wanted the choice. Tenthil would make sure he was the only choice worth making. That meant respecting her desires as best he could, even if he had to deny his own.

  He took a step toward her, cupping her cheek to make her look at him again. “Promise you will be here when I am done.”

  She loosely wrapped her fingers around his wrist and nodded. “I promise. I won’t run again.”

  For a moment, he stared at her, lost in her beauty, caught in her magnetic pull. He was helpless when it came to Abella. He was not happy that his need for her was causing her distress, but he could not set it aside—and though she fought it, she seemed to feel a pull toward him, as well.

  He brushed his thumb over her cheek and forced himself to lower his hand. “Go. Rest.”

  She hesitated, her gaze flicking to his wound. After a moment, she nodded and exited the bathroom.

  Tenthil gently closed the door. His yearning to be at her side flared immediately—he needed to have her within sight so he knew, without a doubt, that she was safe, she was here, she was his—but he shoved it aside.

  Priorities. Clean myself, treat my wound.

  There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he wasn’t sure how. She woke things within Tenthil for which he had no name.

  Soul mates.

  What they shared now—what they would share eventually—could not be fully conveyed with words. It was about action, about doing. And he would do everything he could to make sure she was irrevocably his and eternally safe.

  Ten

  Abella’s eyelids fluttered open as she slowly woke. The room was dim; weak lights in the corners provided the only meager illumination, just enough to cast the room in shades of gray. Even four years in the Infinite City hadn’t helped her overcome the disorientation of never knowing whether it was night or day; there was no sun, no moon, no sky at all below the surface, just the distant, diffused glow of lights set in the metal and framework that was always overhead, which shone like lonely stars amidst swathes of darkness.

  She’d always been forced onto Cullion’s schedule—when he’d been awake, it was her daytime; when he slept, it was her night. But now the passage of time seemed disjointed. She found it impossible to track, and it wasn’t merely because she and Tenthil spent most of their time running for their lives.

  A soft, warm breath tickled her scalp, and Abella smiled. She lay tucked against Tenthil’s side, her head beneath his chin, her hand on his slowly rising and falling chest, and her leg tossed over his thigh. He had one arm around her, holding her close. His clawed fingers flexed slightly in response to her every little movement.

  Abella traced small circles over his bare chest, marveling at the feel of his strong, steady heartbeat beneath her palm. The weak lighting made his skin appear brighter, especially compared to hers.

  For a moment, she let everything fall away—the deadly assassins chasing them, the city full of people willing to sell her out, her years of enslavement, and the family waiting for her at home—and found herself at peace. A contentment she’d not felt in a long, long while settled over her.

  If she’d met Tenthil under different circumstances, how could she have resisted him?

  She could admit that his appearance was perhaps a bit eerie—at times, he looked downright scary—but the very traits that made him intimidating were the same traits she found dangerously attractive. He looked at her as though she were his everything.

  And he could be mine.

  His words from the day before resonated in her mind.

  Something in me recognizes you. Something in me knows that you are mine. That I am yours. I cannot ignore it, cannot deny it. It is the deepest, most primal part of me.

  Abella flattened her hand over his heart and closed her eyes, focusing on the steady thump of his heart.

  What if she were to give it all up? Give up going home to have a life with Tenthil?

  It was a frightening thought…but also a compelling one. She had been ripped away from all she’d known and thrust into a whole new world, a world of enslavement, humiliation, and pain. Tenthil represented the possibility of claiming this world as her own, of experiencing it as a person instead of a belonging.

  But what would their shared life be like? Would they always be hunted?

  Could she just…let go of her old life? Her family had likely moved on, but did they long for closure they’d never received? Had they already mourned for her?

  She wasn’t sure if she could give up her dream of returning home to instead embrace a life alongside Tenthil. Though she was drawn to him, she hardly knew him.

  Soul mates.

  Would she regret it if she didn’t stay with him?

  He was an alien, a dangerous stranger, and yet something about being with him felt right, felt real.

  Maybe she’d prematurely taken Tenthil’s words to heart. Maybe she’d allowed him to stir up some old, romantic notions and longings she’d thought lost to her forever, but…

  “There’s still time to sleep,” Tenthil said softly.

  Abella started and opened her eyes. Nothing in his breathing or heartbeat had changed to indicate he was awake. “Is there?”

  An affirmative hum rose from his chest, vibrating against her hand to travel along her arm. It sent little tingles through her whole body. His rough and distorted voice, combined with his heat and his solid embrace, reignited the ever-present desire lurking in her core. And now that he was awake…

  She breathed in deeply, taking in his clean, masculine scent, and brushed her nose against the base of his throat. His hand on her spine stiffened, his claws slightly pricking her skin where her shirt had ridden up to expose her lower back.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t tired at all.

  Abella slid her hand down, tracing the musculature of his abdomen, until it reached the edge of the blanket resting over his pelvis.

  “Abella?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “Hmm?” She lightly ran her fingers back and forth along the blanket’s edge; the low position of the fabric suggested his shirt wasn’t the only article of clothing he’d chosen forgo after his shower.

  His stomach trembled, and his breath quickened. He grasped a fistful of the bedding with his free hand as his fingers against her back flexed, intensifying the scrape of his claws just enough to send another thrill through Abella. A bulge rose in the blanket only centimeters away from her fingers.

  She pushed herself up, and when Tenthil moved to rise with her, Abella pressed her hand against his chest and shoved him back down. Their eyes met; his pu
pils were ringed by only the thinnest silver bands.

  “Stay,” she said.

  Confusion creased his brow, and his lips parted to reveal the tips of his fangs, but he remained in place as she brushed her fingers over his lower lip and the scars on either side on his mouth.

  “Stay,” she repeated, running her hand down his chest and abdomen. When she reencountered the covers, she pushed them farther down. She turned her head to follow the path of her hand with her gaze until, finally, her eyes settled upon his erect cock.

  At a glance, his shaft appeared like a human’s, but its alien features became apparent as Abella’s eyes further adjusted to the dim lighting. A series of overlapping ridges ran along its underside, and three rows of small knots swept back from its broad head to its base on the top. His sack rested beneath, totally hairless—just like the rest of his body apart from his head.

  She hadn’t known what to except, couldn’t have guessed what he’d look like—and she’d seen plenty of alien cocks since Cullion had begun showing her off like an exotic pet in Twisted Nethers—but the sight of Tenthil’s throbbing erection sent a rush of heat through Abella. Her sex clenched in need; she could imagine the pleasure those knots and ridges would create inside her.

  A bead of moisture pooled at the tip of his cock. Her mouth watered. Humans had a salty taste; would Tenthil? Or would he have a hint of sweet cinnamon, like his kisses?

  Abella crawled farther down the bed, nudging his legs until he spread them and made room for her to kneel between his thighs. A spicy aroma filled her senses. She breathed it in deeply; it was coming from him. Supporting herself with one hand on the bed, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft.

  He sucked in a sharp breath and tensed, raising his knees and grasping the bedding beside him. Abella glanced up to see his fangs bared and his wide eyes fully black. The sight of him, so affected by such a simple touch, triggered a flood of slick, wet heat between her legs. Her sex pulsed as she tightened her grip on him.